


jagged and in ruins

by kuro49



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Dick Grayson is a Talon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 05:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16570604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: The Gray son of Gotham meets the damned prince of Gotham.





	jagged and in ruins

**Author's Note:**

> there are some super great talon dick fics out there, this is not one of them but here are my own 2 cents anyway.

 

At night, Talon learns, the wind is biting and the air is cold outside.

Up here, high above the wet dirty asphalt reeking of sour sewage water, Gotham could almost be described as pretty. Talon is watching, like he's always done.

Not seen, not heard, but always present.

Out of all the wretched truths living out in these Gotham streets, Talon sees him first. A gleam of red in the shadows, a splash of the soles of his boots in the puddles as he stumbles for good this time.

 

"Oh, _fuck_."

Of all the bad things that accumulate in this dreadful city of his, Red Hood didn't think it would be the fucking Talon of the Court of Owls to find him bleeding out in the gutters. He has new injuries on top of barely rendered old wounds, and frankly an awful job at first aid if the dimly lit corner they are hidden in is any indication of the hastily bound bandages criss-crossing his chest.

"A thank you would be nice." The Talon says to him.

“And finding out where the Court of Owls dragged me off to would be too.” Red Hood replies. "But I don't think either one of us is getting what we want."

“You know who I am?”

The rings of gold around the Talon's pupils are bright, makes it hard for him to look away. It might be a cracked rib or even a punctured lung but Red Hood finds himself breathless.

“Gothamite born and bred.” He says with some degrees of pride, “I’ve heard about you every night as a kid, Talon.”

The corners of Talon's mouth tug upwards, stiffly and almost unnaturally so. But Red Hood knows a smile when he sees one and Talon smiles like recognition is what he’s been waiting for all these long, cold nights.

“Did you sleep well?”

Red Hood tries to laugh. What comes out is a rasp. “Definitely better than I do now.”

“You should rest.” Talon tells him, reaching out, pass the flinch Red Hood lets out in reflex to touch a palm to the exposed length of his neck like he is checking his temperature. Cool against heated skin. “Let me watch over you.”

 

Even when the red soaking through his clothes reeks of death, the man with red hiding his face is pulsing with life. If Talon is understanding that particular emotion correctly, he likes it.

He likes that about him a lot.

"I never pegged the Talon for someone who played with their prey."

Talon isn't understanding what the other means and he tells him just that.

"You are not my prey," he says. "I don't fix my prey."

"You don't want me dead." Talon shakes his head, and Red Hood is cautious to continue. "You want me alive."

Talon tilts his head, reaches for his knife—

"Do you not want to be?"

And is stopped by Red Hood's hand wrapped around his wrist in a grip far tighter than Talon thought the man is still capable of.

"Dying once leaves a lot to be desired," Red Hood tells him, the words a rush. "I like living just fine."

Talon smiles at that. "I like living too."

Red Hood has heard the rumors but he didn't believe them. But this is looking more and more like proof that the Court didn't survive Batman after all. "And the Court?"

"The Court is," Talon pauses, his voice going softer, and in a whisper Red Hood can barely hear, like he doesn't quite believe it himself either, he finally tells him. "The Court is no more."

 

It might very well be a terrible idea, the worst one he's had yet and against what is probably his better judgement if he still has any left, Red Hood takes the Talon home (with the Talon supporting more than most of his weight all the way here, back to a safehouse that is more well-used than any of the ones he has this side of town).

"I'm not a stray." Talon points out as he circles the converted bomb shelter, traces an extended talon along the lines of shelves. "I'm fine on my own."

"I've seen homeless people with better living conditions than what you had."

Without the voice modulator, Talon hears him for the first time. His voice is deep, is rough, is laced with the worst of the Gotham streets. When he looks, he is looking to a Red Hood without the hood, to see a man with a domino mask and scars that have probably been made down to the bone.

"Are you looking for me to thank you?"

For taking him in to where the cold doesn't make the joints of his limbs stiff and the movement of each strike slow.

"Consider us even, Talon."

Red Hood without the hood is still drenched in red. He walks with a grit to his words and a grind of his teeth, pain seething out in every wince as he walks the short distance to the makeshift kitchen where his extensive first aid kit is looking a little too well used.

When the Talon follows, crosses the expanse of the room to stand in front of him, this is a conscious decision this time.

"Let me help."

One debt repaid for another to take its place.

Talon has no reason to save him but he does it nonetheless. Drag him out of the gutters to make sure he breathes one more night. It is as close to a random act of kindness as people like them deserves.

Red Hood isn't all recklessness despite every action he has taken up until now proving otherwise. It takes a long moment of indecision, of pros outweighing the cons before he settles for what is probably the best worst decision he's had since the start of this night.

Red Hood drops the thread and needle into Talon's hands and gestures him to the worst of his injuries to start with.

 

At the crack of dawn, Red Hood remembers, waking up is excruciating in every meaning of the word.

Where the light should shine in through the curtains, spread of warmth to gently wash over him, he opens his eyes to see rings of bright burning gold slowly blinking at him from the other side of his bed. Recovery is a slow going process but getting used to this might be a longer one still.

"This is not a prison."

Red Hood thinks Talon knows this already but it probably bears repeating. He doesn't intend to become anyone's keeper.

"You couldn't keep me even if you wanted."

Talon looks at him like he is trying to figure out if there might have been brain damage alongside of everything else. And Red Hood is starting to think so too when he has his face bare to the assassin he's been warned of night after night as a child.

"Nobody said anything about keeping."

The thing is, without the Court, Talon has no idea what he is doing. He has served the Court of Owls all his life, one order after another before he is placed on ice for the Court to need him once more. Talon exists on a necessity he no longer has. What Talon is only figuring out now is that he should not exist.

When Talon laughs, it is an abrupt thing. A burst of startling laughter that comes tumbling out.

They both stare at the other, like this is what is disbelievable here.

 

"That can't be a good idea."

Talon is standing at the exit of the safehouse while Red Hood is in his full gear minus the hood.

"Give me my helmet and get out of the way."

A crime lord's empire is not built on anything less than a fair amount of fear and a good dose of intimidation and blood shed to set that into stone. But even Red Hood cannot risk going underground for weeks at a time without anticipating an attempt or two to bring imbalance back to this powder keg of a city.

"You aren't fixed."

Talon tells him like he hasn't figured that out on his own. The twinge in his fingers from the hairline fractures are manageable as long as he keeps to shooting instead of taking a swing with his fists.

"Not everyone can heal like you can."

The throbbing in his side is all deep tissue bruising with not much to be done, and Red Hood hopes he doesn't sound as bitter as he feels.

"Exactly."

The points are all there but Red Hood has never once been a man of good ideas when the pain flares up with every inhalation. The sharp aching is most definitely caused by the cracked ribs only starting to heal. And so, Red Hood figures slow, shallow breaths will have to do for the duration.

"I'm still leaving."

"Can I come?" Talon asks, fingers digging into the sides of Red Hood's helmet with his talons extended. Without a doubt, the paint is scratched and the smooth metal marred.

"Can I stop you?"

Talon doesn't answer, just smiles that smile of his and renders every single one of Red Hood's arguments moot when he finally hands the hood over.

 

Seeing Talon fight drags every Gothamite childhood fear back to the surface.

The fact that Red Hood's warehouse was rigged to explode and the snipers taking shots at him just within the blast radius indicates the Penguin _really_ wants him dead. It makes him excitable in ways that are probably not at all healthy when he continues to dive head first into danger, neutralizing one bomb after another until it is safe.

Talon doesn't take the earpiece he offers but when the sniper-rifle rounds stop aiming for his head, Red Hood figures Talon knows the game plan before he ever even came up with one.

While Red Hood takes shots at kneecaps of goons who still haven't got the sensibility to run, Talon tears the rest of the room apart.

Talon's kills are clean, are efficient, are every kind of bone-chilling word that keeps Red Hood wondering how close he's stepped towards death and back and back and back again during the days he's spend with him.

"So you've got a Talon for a pet now." The right hand man of Cobblepot spits out at him.

"Oh, he does what he wants." Red Hood says, the muzzle of his gun leveled with the man's eyes. "And it seems like the Talon isn't against it if I put a bullet or two in you."

Talon walks over, silence in his steps and silent in his gait. He stands as a shadow outlined in the gold of his mask, his voice eerily still when there is no visible mouth.

"You might want to be careful though," Talon points out, "you're going to need to get more plastic wrap if you plan to take two showers in one day."

Red Hood tilts his head at Talon, a silent little _really_.

But he take a couple steps back before he pulls the trigger.

Over the loud echoing bang that reverberates through the high ceilings of the warehouse, Talon drags down the mask that hides the lower half of his face to make sure Red Hood can read the split of his lips into the widest grin, a not so silent little _told you so_ when the splatter doesn't even hit the tip of Red Hood's boots. _  
_

"You're welcome."

Red Hood steps over the body and makes sure Talon can read the roll of his eyes even from underneath the shield of his hood.

"I didn't say thanks."

 

The little pot of green that is sitting next to the sink is jarring.

It makes Red Hood blink twice when he finally registers its presence in his kitchen.

"It's basil." 

Talon supplies, standing too close, the edge of his bowl bumping against Red Hood's elbow as they stand there in front of the sink. Red Hood registers it for what it is, and it is a confirmation that Talon fully comprehends the extent of that conversation they've had. This is not a prison. This is the Talon making a choice of his own to leave and come back.

"I can see that."

Talon prods him, glancing down at his empty bowl before looking back up at him.

"You're out of cereal."

Red Hood's eyes go from the potted basil plant to the empty box of Crocky Crunch sitting on the makeshift dinner table.

"I can see that too." And Red Hood only gives it a second thought when it isn't irritation that hits him at all. Without the Court, Talon is learning what constitutes as choice. "Did you put it on the list?"

Talon hands over the dirty bowl and Red Hood sets it in the sink to soak along with the other dishes, and when Talon goes to the fridge where the list sits, Red Hood tosses him a pen from the countertop and lets him put down his favourite brand of cereal on their shopping list.

 

As a core player in this perpetual underground war within the heart of the worst of Gotham city, Red Hood is a formidable opponent. Back from the dead and submerged under the depths of the Demon Head's personal Lazarus pit, Red Hood remains human despite all the signs that point otherwise.

Two weeks shy of a full recovery, he almost brains himself getting out of the shower and ends up with a sprained wrist and a dislocated shoulder while he pops the stitches to the worst of his healing wounds.

Slippery tiles are no joke and as hard to believe as it is, Red Hood is as human as they come.

They are on the sofa with Talon tying off the last of the fresh bandages that seems to be holding Red Hood together. 

"Your name is not Talon."

Red Hood has never once seen Talon being caught off-guard, this is hardly going to be that chance.

"No, it isn't." Talon shakes his head with it, pulling on the knot of the gauze to make sure it stays in place. His focus is all consuming, the gold bright and blazon. Dark veins tracing along his jaw. Red Hood doesn't know why this is what has him wrapping his hand around Talon's wrist and tugging.

Talon can resist and probably put him twice on the ground before Red Hood can even react in this state. But Talon comes to him. His movement like the downpour of rainwater when he flows from the seat next to him to straddling him, thighs on either side, effectively pinning him into the cushions of the sofa. Red Hood tips his head back to see Talon staring down, the line of his mouth still deciding how this will go.

"You know what it is?"

"Yes." Talon tells him. "I also know what came before. The memories are snapshots that I can see in my head." These are the truths he's gathered despite the years and years of conditioning at the Court's hands. "I used to have blue eyes."

Red Hood knows a bad idea when he is staring straight at it but he goes ahead all the same because when has he ever shy away from one more terrible decision.

"My name is Jason."

"Mine used to be Richard John Grayson." Talon says, mouth turning upwards, eyes sparkling like he is entertaining him. "You can call me Dick if it makes you feel better. He would've liked that."

Maybe Red Hood is a romantic but he met Talon before Dick ever surfaced in name. He tolerates him as he is and he tells him just that.

"Talon is just fine. He is not you."

Talon dips his head down until there is barely a breath's distance between them. There is no mistaking what this entails.

"I like you too," Talon murmurs against his lips, his breath warm while the rest of him where their bare skin touches is cool.

"Never said anything like tha—"

Talon cuts him off for good, catches Red Hood's mouth with his own to drown out the rest.

 

The basil plant almost dies.

In a makeshift home this deep underground, the lack of windows get to be too much despite the security that brings.

"It's wilting." Talon says, bringing the yellowing little plant right up to Red Hood's nose to show him. "I killed it."

It's a weighed statement even when Red Hood is pretty sure the Court has long since bred remorse out of their best soldiers. But all of it seems to be coming back, unraveling like loose threads when Talon makes a wounded little noise while he watches Red Hood reach out to pinch a particularly shriveled looking leaf in between two fingers and pluck it clean off.

"It's not dead yet." Red Hood tells him, putting down the leaf that is beginning to crumble at the edges and picking up his phone. Conviction and promises like these are what killed him, he still makes this one for all the worth that it is. "I'll save it."

 _Like you saved me_ , he doesn't say.

The sun lamp bought and shipped to another one of Red Hood's safehouses almost doesn't make it here in time to save the basil plant, but they manage.

Now it blooms like a bright little spot of green with no signs as to how close it came to death.

 

"For someone who doesn't like Batman, you seem to have quite a few Batman memorabilia."

Talon doesn't need to point out the bright red bat that adorns the chest of Red Hood's armour or point at the tire of the Batmobile on the shelves or even the framed photograph of Batman standing next to the Robin Talon recognizes to have long since disappeared from the Gotham vigilante scene.

It doesn't take much to take two and put one together to make out Red Hood as the little missing birdie that used to sing a very sweet song. 

"It comes with the territory."

Talon sits in the dark, against the headboard on the other side of the bed while Red Hood tries to catch an hour of shuteye before his presence is needed for a shipment arrival at the docks later this evening. Fresh out of the bandages and the lingering phantom pains aside, Red Hood could almost be considered as good as new.

In a quiet hopeful prayer, Talon goes. "He saved you too?"

"I wouldn't depend on it a second time."

The fact is Red Hood doesn't blame Talon for having faith in Batman. Batman brought down the Court of Owls when no one else did, ended the long line of Talons at his generation.

"Why?"

"Last time I did, I was beaten by a crowbar then blown up before he ever showed." Red Hood can feel that same old anger still pulsing like a live wire inside of him, and he hates the compulsion he feels in reaction to it. But he knew the truth before he ever don the red, green, and yellow for the first time. It is all part of the package deal.

He was always willing to die for Batman's cause and when he finally does, he comes back like some cursed little thing Bruce Wayne couldn't shake off.

"But you survived."

"Not quite."

Talon's smile is not visible in the dark but Red Hood knows it by heart at this point.

He has woken up on most nights and then almost every morning since the first to see Talon watching over him. This is not new but it always feels like it when Talon shifts and presses Red Hood into the mattress. Cool fresh sheets against his back, the touch of his cool palms trailing up from his sides to his chest to each side of his jaw to draw their faces impossibly close for Talon to tell him.

"Not all of me survived either, Jason."

Talon is learning that this is the life after death, and if there are matches to be made, this might be the one to be made in heaven.

 

 


End file.
